


She's Okay

by MickUwU



Category: Evelyn Evelyn (Band)
Genre: Evelyn Evelyn, Sandy Fishnets - Freeform, The Evelyns - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickUwU/pseuds/MickUwU
Summary: Eva and Lyn Neville come across a comment that strikes their interest.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	She's Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Evelyn Evelyn story and I'm planning on adding more to this. If I come up with nothing by the end of the month, it will stay one chapter forever. And that's fine. The twins are 23 in this fanfic and Sandy (which I completely make up a full name for) is 27 and does TikTok. The twins are not savvy in any internet things at all so Lyn's not very specific about what's going on. This takes place in 2020, hence TikTok. If I continue this, it might even be a mystery! Who knows? I don't expect attention for this at ALL because there's such a small amount of Evelyn Evelyn fics on here. Also I made up a description for Sandy. I hope you enjoy!

“Lyn, what are you doing?” you say. I am, in fact, doing nothing. The night is warm and I’m happy. We changed our hours from the day to the night so it would be less suspicious of us to be up and about during this time. I don’t want to think, therefore I refuse. After my silence, you sigh. “I know, Lyn. This is boring but it’s the only thing keeping us here.”

“We work by the clock, not by the amount we do,” I reply. If we do 1,000 applications, the motel owner won’t do anything bad to us. We have done 1,311. We’re fine.

“Still! If he ever raises the fake bar in his head, he’ll have our throats! We won’t be able to perform!”

“That’s all you want to do! That’s all we’ve ever done! We can’t we just exist? It has always been people taking advantage of us. Why can’t we do the bare minimum so people stop expecting things from us?”

“Why can’t we do the best so they’ll let us go?”

“God, you’re so annoying.” You laugh. I am upset but I’m glad you’re not letting this change you. You’re still yourself, after all the bad hands we’ve been dealt. “Okay, I’ll help. This doesn’t mean anything, though.” You face me.

“Promise?”

I smile. “Promise.”

We type and click the hours away, remarking stupid things about the sites we go on. They’re all so ugly. Why do they always pick red? It’s, like, the opposite of a trustworthy color.

You yawn loudly. “I’m beat, Lyn.”

“Since we’ve done 5,000 plus, you’re satisfied?”

“You know me, I’m an overachiever.” We laugh quietly. “I said that because… I don’t want to play tonight, you know? Maybe we can just check YouTube and leave it there?” You straighten our posture a bit.

“Whatever.” You click the search bar and we type the phrase together. You have more control over the computer than I do because of our positions, much like our body. You still have most of our legs, albeit ⅔.

“Why does that sound familiar?” you ask.

“What?” I say, not knowing what you’re talking about. We’ve clicked onto our notifications to see the comments we’ve been given. There are many, many kind ones. Some… not so kind, but it happens! But we have so many friends now!

“That one… the one that says, ‘You two are so cool! I love your sound.’” You point to a comment that reads precisely what you did.

“Which part about it?” I ask, still not understanding.

You hold your breath. You can do that, I remember. It’s more difficult for me to breathe like that. I am often breathless. You finally speak. “The name. Casandra Voile.”

That does seem familiar. “Perhaps she’s popular somewhere?”

“No, bird-brain. I think that’s Sandy.” I feel your leg shake. I’m afraid, too. We thought she died. What if it’s a trick? She probably wouldn’t recognize us if it were her. We’re older now. We don’t show most of our body so people just think we’re weirdly close to each other. It’s easy not to know. Our stage name is Evelyn Evelyn, still, but perhaps Sandy forgot that, too. Maybe she blocked her entire childhood out of her brain.

“It can’t be, right? She’s gone.”

“What if she really did get away, though? What if… before they took her, she got out? Or maybe when they took her, they weren’t going to kill her or sell her? What if they really did save her?” You seem very excited. She was our best friend, I understand. I want this to be as real as you do.

“We need to find out,” I decide. You nod knowingly. We can’t go to sleep until we can contact her. You move your hand to the mouse and hover over her name. Her profile picture is not one of a person, rather one of a cartoon character. Whatever it is, it’s charming. You click on her name and…

Videos of some sort of short sing-a-longs show up with a face one can’t forget. The face is striking and tan. Her eyes are brown like a nice summer day and her face is splattered with freckles. Her hair is half blonde, half brown. She’s very pretty. I look to you.

You’re crying. “Eva?” I ask, trying to get you to stop. You don’t. I hold your hand. We click a video together.

A stupid, innapropiate song plays as the girl does an equally stupid dance. We’ve seen this sort of dance before and she seems to have left all of the unladylike parts out. That makes sense. She probably doesn’t want to be reminded of her abuse.

“Oh, Lyn…” you whisper. “She’s okay.”

I smile. “She’s okay.


End file.
